


play rough

by geometric



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Eventual Smut, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geometric/pseuds/geometric
Summary: Everyone wants a piece of the champion.A collection of multishipping drabbles.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Yuuri | Gloria
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	play rough

**Author's Note:**

> these underwent minimal editing; take that as you will. i tend not to devote too much editing effort to my drabbles as i do to my main projects, haha. the first 7 chapters will be sfw, and the second 7 will be nsfw. i used RNG to select the prompts and some of them were a challenge!
> 
> i’m woefully uneducated regarding uk speech mannerisms, so i do apologize if anything comes off as unnatural or too characteristic of american english. i wholeheartedly welcome constructive criticism.
> 
> i aged up gloria for these, but if your little heart desires otherwise, i won’t take umbrage at that.

“Huh? Don’t bother running all the way across town to get a room. That’s just daft.”

Gloria draws her coat closer, already feeling the tip of her nose go numb after just a few minutes outside. Snow swirls around them both, the flakes twinkling in the pale yellow light of the streetlamp. She had lost track of time while they were in the stadium; night has fully enveloped Hammerlocke.

“What do you suggest, then? Should I set up camp in the wild area and wait for the elements to take me?” she says, rubbing her nose with a gloved hand.

Raihan tips his head back and laughs, and she’s less preoccupied with the source of his mirth than the fact that he’s still donned in shorts in below freezing weather. Snowflakes cling to his bare calves — an observation that she absolutely should not be making.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. What I’m _saying_ ,” he says emphatically, “is that my flat is right down the street and I’ve got an extra room.”

Her mouth runs dry and she suddenly stops caring about the status of his calves.

“That’s — ” She pauses and licks her chapped lips. “That’s rather forward of you, Raihan.”

His lips twist into a puerile pout. “Aww, c’mon. That’s not what I meant. Unless you _want_ that to be what I meant?”

“No!” Her hands fly up to her face, cupping her cheeks. “I mean, I don’t mean anything by that, I just — ”

He baits her like this every time they train and she sinks her teeth into it hook, line, and sinker. She grimaces; she always suspected that the ulterior reason he always harangued her to train.

“Take a breather. Just figured I’d toss the offer your way,” he says. A glimmer of amusement shines in his eyes even in the shadow of the gym awning.

The wind whips about, sending strands of hair fluttering around her face. Heat seeps from her cheeks and through the cotton of her gloves.

“I guess it _is_ a far way off…” she mumbles.

An entirely-too-smug grin spreads across his lips and it shouldn’t surprise her, but it almost makes her want to rescind her implicit acceptance just to see how he would react.

“Brilliant. Figured you’d say that.” He folds his arms across his chest, wholly satisfied with himself. “Let’s be off then.”

She’s not strong enough for that, though. She follows him down the cobblestone road, internally berating herself all the while, until they reach a row of modest flats. She expected something far more glamorous — a penthouse in a ten story, a whole house, even — but it’s a genuinely unassuming townhome, something she’d find in Postwick if enough people lived there to engender demand for such a thing.

But the smile on her face quickly falls when she remembers that she’s at Raihan’s house. That it’s well past midnight. That she’s about to _sleep_ here.

_No big deal_ , she thinks. _Just a professional courtesy. That’s all._

“Expecting a mansion on a hill, were you?”

“Not at all!” she says with a reassuring wave.

He chuckles. “Good thing you didn’t shoot for acting, Miss Champion.”

He turns the key and ushers her inside and Gloria can feel her myriad regrets piling up into a heavy heap on her chest. If someone sees them like this, she’s toast. It really wouldn’t have been much of a walk to the Budew Drop Inn.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he says, neatly severing that line of thought. He tosses the keys on the side table by the sofa and discards his hat and jacket onto the sofa. “‘S been a busy week.”

“It’s not like this all the time?” she deadpans, setting her bag down by the door.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Cheeky!”

Without his typical accoutrements, he looks older, uncharacteristically professional.

“Let me show you where the guest room is,” he says, ascending the wooden stairs without waiting for her to follow. She trails behind him, the stairs creaking beneath her boots. Being this close, she can smell the remnants of his cologne, an earthy, masculine scent that leaves her feeling lightheaded.

He opens the first door on her right to show a cramped guest room with a smorgasbord of junk littered about on the floor. At least the bed is big. She drags her hat off of her head, letting her scalp breath.

“You must be tired, so I’ll leave you be for once.” He ruffles her hair. “Sleep tight.”

Once she’s shut the door behind her, Gloria slips into a tank top and shorts (a result of poor planning on her part) and shivers as she slides into bed with her eyes wide open. Sleep? Now? That’s a joke.

She rolls over. Did anyone see them make their way over here together? She adjusts the pillow. Did he mean anything by it? She wraps the comforter taut around her. Does she want him to have meant something by it?

Her Rotom Phone buzzes with a text notification. After some fumbling and straining her eyes, she sees that it’s from Raihan.

_youre tossing and turning a whole lot, u good??_

She sinks and slides deeper into the sheets until she’s completely covered. The air is frigid but her face is fiery. She could (and likely should) just ignore it and expend the effort on actually falling asleep.

Or she could stir trouble. She’s gotten pretty good at that.

A wildly impulsive part of her wants to see if he invited her here for a reason. She slides her finger against the lock screen and starts to type her response.

_I’ve got a secret. Promise you won’t tell anyone?_

She shoves her face in her pillow (his pillow, technically) and muffles her own groans of abject despair. Moments pass and she hopes that he’s already fallen asleep with his phone on his chest, but hers vibrates and she shoots straight back up.

_oh boy what am i about to hear haha_

Her face burns so hotly that she might as well have popped a Cheri Berry into her mouth as she fires back a text that she’ll take to the grave with her.

_I’m a little scared of the dark. Don’t judge me, please!!!_

The ensuing silence sticks needles in her corneas and ears. Now she _really_ hopes he fell asleep. When her phone doesn’t vibrate for the next few minutes, it seems like he finally might have done so. Relief washes over her in a gentle wave. She’ll wake up the next morning and be able to wave it all away.

Her hopes are swiftly dashed when the door opens with a shrill whine, allowing a thin beam of light passage into the room. A sliver of Raihan’s profile is visible.

“Scared of the dark, huh?” he says. “You afraid a Haunter’s gonna sweep through or something?”

She pokes her head out from underneath the comforter. “Haunter? O-Oh, yes. They’re just dreadful. Can’t get a lick of rest with them milling about.”

He was wrong. She absolutely should have pursued a career as a thespian.

“As a matter of fact, I’m a bit scared of the dark myself.”

Raihan takes a step into the room and shuts the door behind him. Her breath hitches. Maybe she’s already fallen asleep and this is all a bizarre dream. He saunters toward the bed and leans over, his electric eyes catching the light of the streetlamp outside. He’s clad in nothing but burnt sienna boxers.

“You’re not judging me, are you?” he teases.

Gloria pouts, ignoring the way his well-defined abs are directly in her face. “I’m not a hypocrite.”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “No, you’re not. Anyway, there’s no reason to suffer alone if we’ve got each other, you know.”

“This bed’s pretty big,” she says dumbly. She apparently attended the Hop School of Flirting.

“Say no more.”

The sheets rustle as he slips into to join her. She might have been hot with sheepishness, but she didn’t realize how cold the bed was until just now. He inches closer to her, closer, so close she can feel his hot breath against the back of her neck, before he wraps an arm around her waist.

“You’re making yourself comfortable,” she says dryly.

“How could I not be, knowing that Miss Champion’s gonna fend off all those Haunter if they fly on in here?” She can see his smug grin as if it were right in front of her. He waits a beat before asking, “This _is_ all right, isn’t it?”

His consideration shouldn’t surprise her as much as it does, but there’s a layer of vulnerability beneath that question. Gloria closes her eyes and eases into his touch.

“Sweet of you to ask. Yes, it is.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “Because if you were really scared of the dark, you wouldn’t have made it this far.”

She laughs and drifts off to sleep, the blanket of snow on the ground absorbing any ambient urban sounds — his embrace serving as the answer to her questions.

**Author's Note:**

>  _prompt_ : afraid of the dark


End file.
